A myriad of trips to Paris, countless walks past Notre Dame de Paris, immeasurable walks through the cathedral, with family, with friends, being a tour guide, and alone, just because I felt like it. When I was at university in Paris in the early 90’s hearing the bells ring at Notre Dame, seeing the crowds gather in front and walking past it to get to the gym, were part of my every day life. Yet, after this limitless exposure in my life, I had never climbed up the 387 steps to the top of the south tower. Today, with my girls, Lise and Julian, who are visiting from Calgary, we made our way up the old steep narrow steps of Notre Dame. This was after an hour of standing in line made tolerable by ingesting Nutella crepes. The wait was worth it for the 5 of us. What a magnificent view. Discovering new and different angles of the cathedral, the intimate view of the gargoyles and my first introduction to the 13 ton bell. All French bells have names and the enormous bell that hangs in the south tower is named Emmanuel. It takes 8 men to ring the bell by hand. Luckily no bells were ringing while we were climbing and admiring the views (although they might have been for Lise who has claustrophobic and vertigo issues). It was also remarkable to see the neighbourhood where my mother grew up, from above. The streets she roamed, the church where she was baptized and where several of my first cousins were married, from a completely different perspective. The distances look shorter, the buildings more fragile, and the colors more vivid. What a stunning area.
I love that in Paris, after all the trips here and all the time spent here, there are still parts of this fascinating city that I do not know and have yet to discover. My “home away from home” can still surprise and exhilarate me. My 40+ year wait to climb the stairs at Notre Dame was well worth it.
Yes, we love Paris indeed!
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Connections? A Day in Szczecin/Stettin
My family was good enough to spend four hours on the train with me yesterday. Two hours each way to travel to Szczecin, Poland, north east of Berlin, over the German-Polish border.
My father was born in Szczecin in January 1931 when this was still part of Germany and known as Stettin. He always spoke fondly of his birth town even though he only lived there until the age of 12 or 14 years old. The details and dates are sketchy. It appears as if he came and went, between being sent away (with no choice) to an elite Nazi boarding school as a young boy, and then returning to fetch and flee with his mother and younger brother when the Soviets entered Germany. I have always believed that this town represented family and happiness to him and I wanted somehow to share this with him, to have a connection to his childhood, which I cannot now ask him about. There were also the painful moments. His little sister died in 1942 as a toddler and then his father was killed in the German army, three weeks after being sent away. Perhaps this is why he never returned to Stettin. It represented joy and good times but then ended in bad memories. He also never did have the opportunity to return. He died three years before the fall of Berlin Wall.
I know I was searching for something in Stettin. A link to my father, something he spoke about, something familiar, from pictures he rarely showed us but that are forever marked in my memory. There was no familiarity for me, nor the connection I had been yearning for. Stettin seemed like a busy, slightly depressing, former eastern block city. My father would not have known it like this. Yes he would have remembered the trams, some of the striking medieval and neo-gothic buildings, but not the communist era apartment buildings, the new high rises and the graffiti covering much of the city. But I’m glad I went, even for a few hours. I saw where he came from, the streets he wandered as a child, the place where he was happy as a young boy and this somehow makes me feel closer to him. He would be happy we went.
Stettin was an interesting day trip from Berlin, a bustling city of 400,000 inhabitants, but not what I would call a tourist destination. Thanks for accompanying me my adorable family and giving up a day in Berlin. It would not have been the same without you. As my father always believed, family is everything, I am glad you were with me.
Tomorrow, a day cycling through Potsdam, discovering its superb and infamous castles and gardens. Our Deutsch adventure continues.
My father was born in Szczecin in January 1931 when this was still part of Germany and known as Stettin. He always spoke fondly of his birth town even though he only lived there until the age of 12 or 14 years old. The details and dates are sketchy. It appears as if he came and went, between being sent away (with no choice) to an elite Nazi boarding school as a young boy, and then returning to fetch and flee with his mother and younger brother when the Soviets entered Germany. I have always believed that this town represented family and happiness to him and I wanted somehow to share this with him, to have a connection to his childhood, which I cannot now ask him about. There were also the painful moments. His little sister died in 1942 as a toddler and then his father was killed in the German army, three weeks after being sent away. Perhaps this is why he never returned to Stettin. It represented joy and good times but then ended in bad memories. He also never did have the opportunity to return. He died three years before the fall of Berlin Wall.
I know I was searching for something in Stettin. A link to my father, something he spoke about, something familiar, from pictures he rarely showed us but that are forever marked in my memory. There was no familiarity for me, nor the connection I had been yearning for. Stettin seemed like a busy, slightly depressing, former eastern block city. My father would not have known it like this. Yes he would have remembered the trams, some of the striking medieval and neo-gothic buildings, but not the communist era apartment buildings, the new high rises and the graffiti covering much of the city. But I’m glad I went, even for a few hours. I saw where he came from, the streets he wandered as a child, the place where he was happy as a young boy and this somehow makes me feel closer to him. He would be happy we went.
Stettin was an interesting day trip from Berlin, a bustling city of 400,000 inhabitants, but not what I would call a tourist destination. Thanks for accompanying me my adorable family and giving up a day in Berlin. It would not have been the same without you. As my father always believed, family is everything, I am glad you were with me.
Tomorrow, a day cycling through Potsdam, discovering its superb and infamous castles and gardens. Our Deutsch adventure continues.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Tai's Take on Berlin
We are lucky enough to now be in Berlin for 9 days. Even better to have met up with George here, to discover a new city all together. We initiated our visit with a walk to the Reichstag and the Brandenburg Gate. What a perfect way to introduce ourselves to Berlin history. We could not figure out though what all the police and crowds were doing in front of a large hotel by the Brandenburg Gate. Like good tourists we stood around wondering who the red carpet, limousines and security were for. After a brief discussion with a kind polizei we discovered that we were all waiting for Hilary Clinton to come out of the hotel. And she did. We saw her arm waving and her blond hair and I have some blurry pictures to prove it! Day #1 was ended in good German style with schnitzel, fried potatoes & beer for dinner. We all went to bed with smiles on our faces and extremely full stomachs!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)